


I'm Just An Artist...

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cute, Cute Ending, Drabble, Fluff, I Blame Tumblr, Inspired By Tumblr, Love at First Sight, M/M, One Shot, POV Jean Kirstein, Short, Short One Shot, Soulmates, Tumblr Prompt, also, but not kind of, fight me, i dunno, its because soulmates okay, its small though, kind of, like legit one line, love me, not exactly but kind of, this is short, you can ignore it if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘your flat is next to mine and my oven just broke so i broke into yours to heat up my pizza sorry’ au</p>
<p>Thank you, Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just An Artist...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yallneedfreckledjesus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallneedfreckledjesus/gifts).



> This is what happens when you feel a writing spurt and someone promises you a special reward for getting it done. (I love you!)

“Shit, shit, shit, _no_.” I whimpered, the ‘ _no_ ’ coming out a whine, realizing that I- once again- broke my fucking oven. It was a cheap, practically plastic thing, that had knobs that kept falling off every time I turned them and a door that I would shut too harshly and pop right off. I didn’t want to replace it, being that I was a poor just-fresh-out-of-collage artist kid and out of money, but every time I ‘fixed’ it, it would only keep for a couple days before shuddering down on me once more. I didn’t want to call the repair guy, since I still barely have enough money for this cheap as hell flat, and I’m pretty sure he stole something last time he was here.

 

I haven’t seen my indigo paint in a few weeks.

 

So, yeah, I went with my plan B, which I agree, was stupid, is stupid, but I had nothing left to go with and nothing left to lose. Besides, I’ve already done this before.

 

I memorized my neighbor’s schedule, just for moments like these. Every other Friday afternoon would be date night with this tall guy I didn’t know and didn’t care to, so this was the perfect opportunity, seeing that I had at least an hour before Freckles would be back.

 

Taking my uncooked pizza with me, I carefully snuck out, hoping I wouldn’t run into the pretty, brunette girl. I could just _tell_ she lived for moments like mine, that both her and her short, bald boyfriend would probably blackmail the fuck outta me if they knew what I was about to do. (That’s why I constantly put spam mail under their door).

 

Now, Freckles was most likely a pretty sweet guy, nice as hell, maybe would’a just let me in and use his kitchen if I asked, but I didn’t want to know. It would have broken the illusion, the one where I could pretend he was perfect as I watched him dance around in front of the window and sometimes down the hall.

 

I don’t stalk him.

 

He’s just… Pretty. Okay?

 

He had this clean cut look to him, soft looking, dark hair that was split perfectly in the middle everyday except weekends, where he would have it everywhere in little spikes, never brushing it unless someone was coming over or he was going out. He had this tanned, almost olive skin, speckled with freckles where ever you could see it. Pretty much screamed European. Whatever, it was hot.

 

I could never tell just what shade of color his eyes were, (and I didn’t want to ask Ponytail and Mr. Potatohead for my own reasons) but I knew they were dark, but still lit up, especially when he was laughing. _Oh_ , when he _laughed_ , or even _smiled_. His whole body would straighten up, happiness striking through his veins, and his face would stretch to what should really be, but wasn’t, an ugly size. He was getting laughter lines early and they blended well with the spots on his face and dimples in his cheeks.

 

Mom asked if I was in love, saying that I’ve been a lot happier. I tell her the same thing every time; I don’t have friends and I haven’t met anyone new.

 

Some people on tumblr ask why my drawings or paintings of random people and original characters always have a crooked smile and I just send the same emoticon; ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. Oh, the irony in that simple, _crooked_ smile.

 

I don’t love him, like some people might accuse, I don't feel drawn to him, like others might suggest, he doesn’t always make me happy, like I’m supposedly feeling, he’s just an inspiring person to me. If there was a case of a man who was made of one hundred percent innovation, as if creativity was just poured into him, Mar-

 

Freckles would be that man.

 

_(He doesn’t have a name. I don’t know my neighbor’s name.)_

 

And now, I’m breaking into his flat.

 

_(Don’t tell me what I know and what I don’t. I’m just a lonely artist who likes pizza and has a cheap oven.)_

 

Is it really breaking into if you have a key? Or if he was the one that left a fake rock with a compartment on a second story apartment hall that holds his key? Nah. I’m just borrowing what he kindly and unknowingly allowed me to use.

 

As I said before, this isn’t the first time I’ve broken into his flat. Because of that, I have knowledge of where everything is in his living room, kitchen, and dining room. No, I’ve never robbed him, or taken anything but a little of his electricity.

 

After all, my oven breaks a lot.

 

And he isn’t here anyway.

 

I quickly make my way to the stove, slide the pizza in, and turned it on. I pulled out my phone, set a timer, and boosted myself onto the counter to wait. As the numbers on my phone counted down before it locked itself, I glanced around, wondering if Freckles changed anything recently. I’m just curious.

 

_Wow_ , I sound like an ex boyfriend.

 

Nope, nothing’s different. Trust the artist, they’re the ones with the eyes for influential things- even the little ones. Besides, this guy kept everything clean all the time, so there wasn’t even a piece of trash on the floor. Everything here was so unlike my flat that I could have started laughing, but I did that the first time I was here, so there’s really no reason to repeat myself and my actions, unless of course, they create something, like this wonderful pizza. Laughing might make my brain a little happier, but I have a feeling that it would turn bitter quite quickly and I’d feel bad until the pizza finished cooking.

 

Speaking of, I only had to wait a few more minutes on that before I could finally get out of here. Not that this place was bad, or that it gave me the creeps, but if Freckles shows up and I’m sitting on his counter making pizza, things might get kinda awkward. Also, the police might show up. As far as I know, Freckles reads those weird things on Reddit and is extremely paranoid or something. Wouldn’t that just be perfect?

 

Whatever, I’m getting carried away. Once my annoying alarm went off- some duck quacking, I have no idea why I let Eren touch my phone, we don’t even talk- I shut it off, hopping back onto the floor to open the perfect stove and pull my steaming, hot as fuck pizza out. Looking around for Freckles’ paper towels, I noticed with a jolt of dread that he was running low and if I used any, it would be kind of obvious. I pulled out a plate, set the pizza there, and pulled off my shirt. I’ve also done this before, use my shirt as a way to carry my food when he ran low on paper towels. I think I’ll go insane if he ever decides to quit using those things. Plates are for losers anyway. Sorry Freckles.

 

Just as I was switching the pizza from the plate to my bundle of a shirt on the counter, I heard a murmur of a question behind me, making me freeze, more than just dread setting my hair on end, “What the hell?”

 

Well, at least he only seemed mildly confused and not frightened, or worse, angry.

 

Still holding the pizza, I turned around, putting the cheesiest expression on my face and outstretched my arms, “Pizza?”

 

Was he crying? Why was he crying? Who made him cry? Why am I getting so worked up over this guy? I don’t know him and he will probably never even know my name.

 

His eyes were puffy and red and blotchy and blown up and oh god that color. I can finally paint those precious eyes- no, Jean, bad. They were a dark brown at the top corner that layered down to a dazzling honey-gold at the bottom, but they glistened with tears, clear crystals that barely held back a pout. There were tear tracks drying on his what looks to be soft skin and were probably going to be getting itchy soon. I wanted to just drop my pizza, walk forward, and brush them away. And that’s saying something, because I really like my cheap as fuck pizza.

 

However, the fear in my face- even if it quickly morphed into concern for him- and offer produced a cute little giggle, which is kind of scary, considering he’s laughing at a stranger in his house. As if realizing that himself, he sobered up, wiping his face with one arm and using the other to point accusingly at me. “Who are you? Why are you in my house? _What on Earth are you doing with your shirt?_ ”

 

Curling in on myself, I turned and placed the pizza on the counter, knowing that even if I asked he wouldn’t let me just leave. With a hand on the back of my neck, I looked up at him sheepishly, “I’m your neighbor and my oven broke. What’s got you down, Freckles?”

 

I could fall to my knees in thankfulness when he didn’t question me further and instead answered my question, stumbling backwards to lean against the counter as he continued to wipe at his face. Lip trembling, Freckles looked like he was still about to cry, which I think made my heart twang a little in my chest. Ouch. How could this ever be romanticized? It’s just pain, just because he’s in pain. I can’t even kiss him- not that I want to!- so there’s nothing ‘lovey dovey’ about sympathy. Sappy fucking society. “Boyfriend broke up with me.” He sniffled, the palm of his hand digging a little harshly into his eyelid. “After all this time, he just broke it off and said ‘we should see other people’. I- I think he was cheating on me.”

 

_Whoosh_. Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting that. Tall Guy left him? For who? According to Freckles it seemed to think it was going well… But sometimes relationships just go down the drain because people just don’t feel it anymore… Fall out of love. I knew I had my fair share of experiences like that, being on either end. Maybe Freckles just felt more in it than Tall Guy did.

 

Realizing I had been standing there, just staring as he tried to clean himself up, I moved, shuffling through his drawers until I found the pizza cutter. Ignoring his confused and questioning gaze that was settling on my back, I transferred the cooled pizza back to the plate. I sliced eight pieces, grabbed his hand, and tugged him to the couch. I had him sit his frowning ass down, crawled on his lap- which I didn’t see him disagreeing with- and slammed the plate of food in my lap while reaching for the remotes.

 

“Wha-”

 

“Shut your fucking face and eat your pizza.” I muttered, shoving a slice in his face, which he took with such gentleness in those long, quivering fingers I could never possess. I turned on his Netflix and opened one of my favorite shows and settled more comfortably into his lap.

 

“Jea-”

 

“I told you to shut up.” I interrupted with a calm tone, one that I knew scared him a little, because even I knew that my voice was typically pretty angry.

 

_(I don’t have a name. My neighbor doesn’t know my name.)_

 

“I’ll be your boyfriend for a little, just until it hurts less enough to bare, yeah?”

 

_(I’m just grumpy artist who likes pizza and finally talked to his soul mate.)_

 

“Yeah, okay.” He relaxed, just a little, and sounded pretty okay with that. “Thanks Je-”

 

“Eat your pizza before I shove it down your throat.”

  
I love my neighbor's laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any grammatical errors I didn't catch, feel free to comment them, they would be much appreciated.


End file.
